


A Dog's New Master

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dubious Consent, Episode: s07e01 Meet the New Boss, Leviathan Castiel, M/M, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley frowns at the oiled veins climbing up his neck. "What's wrong with you...?" Castiel grins. </p>
<p>--<br/>Takes place during S7E01: "Meet the New Boss."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dog's New Master

This is about the time when an enslaved King of Hell gets good and knickered. 

The scrawled symbols inside his trailer didn't mean much in the end. Ineffective wall decoration. But Crowley still finds comfort in the place. Or, he finds comfort in its liquor supply, more specifically. It's dire straits when Crowley is three-fourths of the way down a bottle of Jack Daniels. It's double-dire straits when he is three-fourths down his _third_ bottle of Jack Daniels. He already finished the case of Craig and the reserve 1985 Syrah. 

It's beginning to kick in. Liquor sputters into his glass from the bottle held by shaking fingers. Crowley still has the dignity to drink from a proper tumbler. He won't drink from the bottle until Round 5 of the bad whiskey. From there, it will be on to illegal rum from that bungalow in the West Indies, and...god, that terrible tequila.

Crowley shed his suit jacket, sleeves rolled to the elbows. It's hot. In times like these, he almost wishes he still sweat.

"Hello, Crowley." Bollocks. 

It's not a surprise though, is it? Blasted Winchesters. Crowley finally convinced himself he would survive this mess! Then, those morons summoned him. Mucked up the whole plan, per usual. 

Singer was right, of course. The risk would be worth it to dethrone Castiel. Sadly, even if the Hardy Boys succeed, it seems Crowley will not live long enough to see a Godless world. Pity. It's been his dream for so long.

With a resigned smile, he turns - more like tips - in the direction of the voice. "Boss! To what do I owe the..." Crowley's words fail. 

Castiel is melting. Literally. His face is blistered and bloody. His hands are covered in sores. Exactly like Lucifer, isn't he? The idiot. Short-sighted, power-hungry child! They could have controlled this thing together. Finished Raphael. Split the souls. Become the new God and Devil. If Castiel had only listened to him!

"I ordered you back to your post," Castiel reminds. 

Crowley combs his expression for clues. If Castiel suspected Crowley's involvement with the Winchesters, he would be dead already, right? But then, Crowley should have been dead a few times over by now. Castiel's Judases don't live long. Raphael. Balthazar. Deep-rooted affection has spared the Winchesters for now. Crowley does not have this on his side. 

They had something, of course. But 'affection' is hardly the term.

"You did, yes. The timing of the order was a bit nebulous though." Crowley motions towards Castiel with his glass. A few drops of whiskey slosh out. "Shall I report now?"

"You're drunk," Castiel says. Toneless. Arrogant.

"Very much so!" Crowley agrees, hoisting his drink. His casual sip becomes a cough, which becomes a fumble for a spare glass. "Care to join me, Castiel? A toast to your eternal glory-"

"No."

Crowley pauses mid-pour. With a shrug, he transfers the contents of the new glass to his own and shoots it back. It's godawful - ha, _God_ awful! Tastes like horse piss, but it finally burns like it used to. In the good old days, when Crowley - no, Fergus - was a drunk, human fool. 

Crowley presents himself with a grin and expectant arms at his sides. He isn't looking forward to death, but he must admit, he's been curious about it these past few hundred years. His human death was rather... Not much to be said about the howls of hellhounds and the gnawing of flesh. It was over quickly, at least. 

Lilith knew he would become something great. The first time Crowley was ripped apart on the rack, he laughed so hard tears spilled from his eyes.

What awaits Crowley after his next death, he wonders. That famed lake of fire? Purgatory? All, just new kingdoms to conquer. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits.

"It's just as well that you're here." Castiel's voice drifts between them, quiet and biting. Thunder peals outside the trailer.

Crowley opens his eyes, raising a brow at Castiel. "Why is that?"

"You are, after all, my subordinate," Castiel explains. "You're alive because I've allowed you to be." This will not end well. 

Crowley fakes his most charming smile. "Your benevolence knows no limits, boss." Castiel tilts his head. 

This will not end well at all.

"I have every reason to destroy you," Castiel muses. "With all you knew about Raphael and the Apocalypse, you still chose to abandon me. The moment you sensed a higher power, you fled. You refused to stand beside me. Everyone refuses to stand beside me."

Crowley...refused to...? He scoffs.

Castiel's eyes narrow. Self-preservation kicks in. "I've seen the error of my ways, boss. You have shown infinite patience with your detractors. We do not deserve a-" Crowley grits his teeth, "God as magnanimous as you."

"I've only done what I had to," Castiel insists. "God abandoned his own creation. He allowed the decay of what was once beautiful. I am taking steps to restore this world to its rightful state. One step at a time. Selflessly." 

At the rate Castiel is going, he will be 'selfless.' Vessel and angel, turned to ash by those souls he carries.

Crowley coughs. By gods, present company included, he's drunk. "Yes, Castiel," he slurs. "You're revolutionizing the whole God business! Your world thanks you."

"You are proof of my graciousness," Castiel tells him. "I could kill you. Easily. But I see past this shell of corruption you wear."

Crowley bites a cheek to restrain his snicker. At least _his_ shell is in once piece. For now, anyway.

"Don't despair, Crowley. You can still be useful," Castiel assures him. "Through your service to your Lord, you will be reborn." 

Crowley scratches his cheek. He has a feeling he's missed something important. 

But, what's it matter anyhow? He can be the chained pet of this delusional prat, or he can be swatted like a fly. Whatever the case, Crowley is screwed, isn't he? "I...yes, well." Crowley refills his glass. "Lucky for me, servitude has been my ultimate goal in life- what the-" He frowns at the counter. His glass, and booze stash, are gone. 

Crowley bites back a scowl. It's one thing to fake joy at an afterlife of enslavement. It's another to have to do so without the aid of alcohol!

"Your Lord demands your undivided attention." Crowley stiffens at how close Castiel suddenly is. A cold hand grabs his chin and forces him to turn.

"Whatever you say, boss." Crowley faces Castiel, anxious hands jammed in his pockets. 

He really is quite dreadful to look at now. Not just the face - though devils, the face is awful. A pussing, sore-riddled mess, bloody blisters puffing beneath his eyes. But what's under Castiel's face is worse. Millions of souls swimming through his veins. All that light. All that power. 

An ancient, frigid coil slithers around Castiel's ribs. Castiel won't be able to hold them for much longer. Leviathans. Yes, Crowley has heard of them. He wonders if they will be more amenable to partnership than Castiel. Or, at least, more likely to keep a deal.

"Do you find your God beautiful, Crowley?"

Frigid winds pound the trailer's exterior. The floor rocks beneath them. "Yes, of course." Crowley forces a smile. 

"More beautiful than when you kissed me?" Oh, Crowley isn't expecting this. Castiel's eyes fix on Crowley's. Waiting for his answer. 

"Yes."

Castiel's mouth twitches. "Liar."

Of course it's a lie. Their deal was sealed within the inner sanctums of Hell. A chaste peck that became tangled mouths and breaths. Hands under clothes. Curses and whispers. Touches and soft, surprising sighs. 

Castiel always fought him. But he was worthy, in those days. He wasn't...this.

Crowley pauses too long to gather his thoughts. "Your power is radiant, Lord," he mumbles. "You are far more now than you ever were."

"My power." Castiel's thumb digs into Crowley's jaw. "Is my power all you see?"

Crowley wishes he could rip Castiel's face off. Tear the old beasts from his flesh. Let them create what they will over Castiel's bones.

"Your power is what I've always seen," Crowley answers carefully. "It's in my nature, I'm afraid." He almost believes that power alone drew him to Castiel once upon a time. It's not a complete lie. Their deal would have meant nothing if Castiel lacked the strength to shield Crowley as they hunted Purgatory. Synergy, and what not. 

But Crowley's interest in Castiel extends further, of course. He was piqued the moment he noticed an angel spying on him from the crossroad shadows. Curious little bee. Terrible clothes.

"It is," Castiel agrees. His grip eases on Crowley's chin. "Demons are quite like dogs, aren't they? Battered. Broken. Driven by their rabid greed."

Crowley can't hide his snarl. "And you, Castiel. A dog's new master."

"A better one, yes," Castiel says. His thumb sweeps under Crowley's eye. "A forgiving one."

Crowley stares at him, bewildered. "I suppose. Thanks for that?" Castiel looks into his eyes for a good while. Perhaps he means the moment to be poignant. Crowley finds the whole affair rather creepy. It doesn't help that Castiel's fingers move to his ear. Tracing the shell. Ruffling his hair like a mutt. 

"You owe your life to me," Castiel murmurs.

This again? "Yes, boss." If Crowley says 'yes' enough, maybe Castiel will leave him to snore off the final bit of his booze.

Castiel's thumb traces Crowley's lips. They pop open in surprise. "Worship me, Crowley." 

"Um." Crowley does not find himself at a loss often. "My kind is not," He barks an abrupt laugh, "the worshiping type. With all due respect, of course."

"You owe everything to me, Crowley." There is something different in Castiel's expression. "Your post, your Kingship. I saved you." He peels Crowley's bottom lip back. "And you will worship me."

Anger bubbles inside Crowley. It's not enough for him to subjugate himself to this bratty twat? Now the beast demands to be _worshiped_? 

Crowley's eyes narrow. "Would you like me to sing hymns for you, my Lord?" Playing with fire, maybe, but he has reached his boiling point. "What language does our new God fancy? Still the old Latin - ah!" His back cracks against the counter. 

Castiel's hands fix on the edge, framing Crowley's waist. His breaths burst hot against Crowley's face. "You found me beautiful once," Castiel whispers. "You will again."

What the hell does it matter, Crowley wants to shout. But he won't. Not if he wants to survive. 

Glaring, Crowley kisses Castiel's jaw. It is so far unscathed by his mutation, bone and the slightest rasp of stubble. Crowley drags his tongue over the skin. Then lifts his head, kissing Castiel's mouth. He follows with Castiel's cheeks. His face is like cooled lava, ashed and cracking. Crowley's hands slide under Castiel's coat. They rest flat on a waist that rocks forward with encouragement.

Crowley shudders at sudden hands on his belly. Not...Castiel's hands. The foreign touch rips at angel and demon clothes. _Let us out,_ the voices purr. Castiel's stomach bulges, claws of the ancient creatures at Crowley waist. They palm between his legs, mittened by Castiel's fraying skin.

"Castiel, you may have a bit of a-" Crowley's words break when his head is wrenched back.

"Crowley." It's Castiel. But it isn't. 

Crowley frowns at the oiled veins climbing up his neck. "What's wrong with you...?" Castiel grins. 

He descends like an animal about to feed. His tongue forces passed Crowley's clenched teeth the second their mouths connect. Castiel rips through Crowley's shirt. With a wink, Crowley's pants and shoes are gone.

"Wait." Crowley hisses. Castiel waves a finger. Crowley's body thumps on the bed in the back corner of the trailer. The springs squeal in protest. 

Castiel is on Crowley before he can formulate a plan. He is completely naked. Skin peels from his blistering body. Black veins thread beneath, stretching up to his strange, gleaming eyes. "Wait, Castiel!"

Castiel buries his face in Crowley's neck. His tongue follows, fat and wet up Crowley's throat. Castiel likes what he tastes. He giggles, actually _giggles_ , like a manic child. His hands sweep apart, splitting Crowley's thighs. Bugger all! Castiel bites Crowley's neck, tearing through the skin. Blood smears across Crowley's throat. 

Crowley snaps his fingers. He barely manages to lube himself before Castiel is inside him. He's thick, pounding Crowley into the mattress. This bed was supposed to be decorative, damn it!

Castiel laps at his blood. He groans and laughs against Crowley. Heavy as as goddamn boulder. The lube isn't helping. Crowley hisses and bucks under him. It hurts like a fucking spike...and it's _delicious_. Crowley feels every bit of himself being torn in two. He spreads himself wider, pulling his knees up to better accommodate the pain.

The old beasts bulge from Castiel's stomach. They fondle Crowley with every thrust. Castiel laughs and nuzzles Crowley possessively. Nothing like a man. Or an angel. Certainly no God.

The concept of time fades. This isn't the beautiful early days of their partnership. The kisses, the sex, and all the fighting. The struggle to stay quiet, to not gasp or shudder, for fear of showing the other weakness. This is dominance at its most primal. Ownership by the entitled ones, the ones locked away in the Almighty's cellar. They fuck Crowley as long as they want. They glutton themselves on his blood, purr and paw at his body. They beat him into the mattress until the springs wheeze for relief.

When they're done, Castiel comes. He doesn't make a sound; just stops when wetness spills into Crowley's over-fucked hole. 

Crowley blinks at the ceiling. Castiel kneads his face against his neck. _He likes you_ , the voices say. 

Castiel goes boneless on top of Crowley, cock softening inside him. Crowley doesn't move. He wishes for more whiskey. Hell, he'd take the bad tequila at this point. 

Hours pass. Castiel snores in Crowley's ear. Crowley stays still.

When Castiel finally rouses, he shudders with surprise. He frowns and blinks blearily at his surroundings. 

The frown deepens when he recognizes Crowley. "What are you doing?" he asks.

Crowley gives him an irritated look. He settles his head on his meager pillow. 

"Why are you...?" Castiel sits back in alarm. He makes a tight sound when he realizes where he is. Shaft soft inside Crowley, a mess of cum, blood, and lube. Crowley lets his head sag to the side. 

He's limp when Castiel grabs him by the throat. The Almighty shakes him, only to startle at the blood suddenly coating his fingers. Blood from Crowley's teeth-shredded neck. "What are you doing!?" Castiel demands. It's the loudest his voice has sounded since his ascension, and the most scared.

Crowley sighs. "Anything else you need, boss?"

He must imagine the remorse in Castiel's eyes. Guilt isn't exactly in God's playbook.

"No," Castiel mumbles. He waves a hand. Immediately, he is clean, and his clothes are back on. "I'll call on you when I need you." He vanishes.

In his absence, Crowley tests the skin on his neck. Healed. He flexes his legs and waist. Healed. 

Crowley settles with a grunt. A part of him wishes Castiel had not removed his wounds. They were the perfect tribute to this stupidity. What a mess this whole deal turned out to be.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.turmblr.com) :)


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